Fire Storm
by LostinParadise97
Summary: "Fire burns with a wicked passion, matched only by a storm." Rayvin is a feral who's been on the run from those who've wanted her dead for 130 years. She faces her biggest threat: Victor Creed, aka Sabretooth. What happens when she realizes her wolf side is attracted to the man sent to kill her? Rated for language, bloody violence, and major lemons. Creed/OC Slight OOC Creed
1. Chapter 1

**I do not own the X-Men, only Rayvin!**

**Within a day of me posting the first five chapters, I had 130+ views. Holy shiznits I wasn't expecting it to be that popular!**

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Chapter 1

Panting. That was the sound that filled my ears as I hunted my prey. My sweet, sweet prey. The pounding of his heart and the pumping of his blood sings to me. I can smell his fear, his desperation to outrun me. My wolf howled for blood, snarling viciously the closer we neared him. My claws extended and my fangs dropped, just as I lunged forward. With a roar, I tackled him to the ground, him landing on his back and me straddling his quivering form. I slashed my claws over his face, permanently scarring him. I snarled obscenities in his face, his screams drowning out my voice. He begged me for mercy, which was futile. This mutant-hating bastard sent one of the strongest ferals after me: Victor Creed.

This human hides his hatred well, actually publicly siding with the mutant-lovers. That must be why Creed deigned to work with this inferior piece of shit.

I tear his shirt off of him, using my claws to carve a message into his chest: "Keep hunting me and you'll die." Then I ripped out the bastard's throat with my fangs.

My name is Rayvin. Some call me Werewolf. Others call me Lupa. And I'm the strongest feral alive.

The reason I say that is this: I was Stryker's last project for Weapon X. I was by far his most perfect experiment. I control fire, and the angrier I get, the deadlier I get. I can shift into an actual wolf form. Grant it, my wolf form is much bigger than the average gray wolf, but I digress. I've been on the run from every organization known to man because they want to use my abilities or kill me. So I evolved. I became a cold-blooded killer, murdering those after me. Now I have to face my biggest challenge yet: Victor Creed.

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He could hear the screams of her newest victim from miles away. They sounded male, and begged for mercy. He knew from experience that she wouldn't give it though. He'd been hunting the she-wolf for the past fifty years. All from different employers, each wanting the Werewolf for different purposes.

"Why is she called Werewolf? I only have a vague description of her and her abilities," he mumbled, picking up his pace to catch up to her. When he reached the body, he could easily see that she loved the kill. The body was mutilated beyond recognition, but the scent told him that it was his most recent employer. He also caught her scent. She smelled like a pine forest and a warm summer's night. His inner wolf howled, wanting the bitch as a mate. Creed wanted her too: He wanted to test her abilities, then fuck her to oblivion.

As soon as he had caught her scent, he was back to running on all fours after her. He could just barely see her form far ahead of him. She, too, was running on all fours. From what he could see, her hair was the color of moonlit blood, the color you only get from a fresh kill. He could also see that she was fit, but still sexy.

Just as he was a few yards away from her, she vanished. Her scent was everywhere, so he couldn't track her. He slammed his clawed fist into the ground and roared his frustration. He had lost her again! That was when he felt pain blossom from his chest, and saw the feminine claws sticking out. He felt her fingers tenderly stroke his heart, before it was ripped from his body and he fell unconscious.

"Nighty night, Sabretooth," he heard her say, before the world went dark.

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	2. Chapter 2

**I do not own the X-Men, only Rayvin!**

**Should I be scared? My last chapter ended up finishing with 666 words... .**

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Chapter 2

Creed roared as he woke, his voice shaking the walls of wherever he fucking was. He tried launching himself forward, before slamming backwards into the wall. That's when he realized he was in chains. He snarled darkly and wrenched his arms forward, straining to break the chains. That's when he smelt her. "Bitch, I'm gonna rip you apart!"

"I'd like to see you try bastard!" She snarled, punching him hard across the jaw. She felt his jaw splinter under knuckles.

He just growled as his jaw healed soon afterwards. "Why am I chained up?"

"Because a male feral as deadly as you needs to be in chains," she spat, hatred blazing in her eyes.

"Was that a compliment?"

"No. It's a simple fact," she growled, baring her fangs.

He tried wrenching his arms forward again, which caused the frail to laugh.

"Those chains are made of vibranium and adamantium. They aren't breaking anytime soon," she said, cocking her hip and grinned.

"Shouldn't the frail be the one in chains?" He growled, making a sexual innuendo. "You need to serve your master."

Rayvin snarled, flames covering her hand before shooting towards Victor's dick. He howled in pain, straining to get away from the flames burning his cock. The flames vanished after a few minutes, leaving him spitting obscenities at her laughing form.

"You deserved that, Sabretooth," she said, before leaving the cell. She closed the door over, locking it tight. She waved cheerily, before leaving him roaring after her.

"Bitch burned my fucking cock off! I'm gonna kill her!" He snarled, while his wolf howled. His wolf loved that she loved to cause pain, and to slaughter mercilessly. She really would be a perfect frail to fuck.

He just had one burning question: She could control fire?!

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	3. Chapter 3

**I do not own the X-Men, only Rayvin!**

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Chapter 3

The next time Creed woke, there was a large, dark red wolf sitting in the middle of the cell. It was much larger than any wolf he'd seen, almost as big as a large grizzly. Its eyes were fiery amber, and it looked as though it was built for running, not fighting.

"So that's why you're called Werewolf. You can turn into a wolf," Creed said, staring into her eyes. They never broke eye contact, a dominance struggle going on for the next few hours.

"When can I get a piss break?" he asked, still staring her in the eye. The wolf barked, a sort of laughing sound, which terrified normal people. She padded out, picked up a bucket in her mouth, and dropped it in front of him. She stared pointedly between him and the bucket, a gleam in her eyes.

"You do realize that I'm not going to piss in my pants, right?" Creed grumbled, which caused the wolf to shake her head in exasperation. He felt a warm and wet nose press into his groin, gripping the fabric of his pants in her teeth and tugging down. His boxers went as well, and the wolf sprang backwards. Creed did his business, with the wolf still staring into his storm gray eyes.

"Not going to stare at my cock? I would have thought you'd want it, little wolf," he said, which caused her to shift to human, claw his face, and rip out his heart. The last things he saw before passing out was her snarling face and naked body.

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After Creed passed out, I howled my rage and crushed his heart. I stormed out of the cell, shameless of my naked body, and worked my way up to my bedroom. I changed into skin-tight jeans, biker boots, form-fitting black tank, and my biker jacket.

I hated that bastard! And yet, my wolf wanted to ride him… Dammit! If that bastard was my mate, then he's got another thing coming. Female ferals are supposed to submit to the bigger and stronger males, but I'm different. I've been killing for 130 years, and about half of my victims were ferals who underestimated me.

I looked at my reflection, pulling my dark red hair into a braid. I left my bangs out, so it covered the one scar I had: the claw mark of the only male who caught me. I hadn't reached my final feral cycle, so the scar never faded. It crossed over my right eye and over my cheek, before disappearing under my clothes. I lightly touched the mark over my heart: a small patch of swirling flames that I was born with.

You see, 150 years ago, my parents knew a witch in Ireland. She was a fire mutant, and she was dying. She was part of a coven, when witches still existed. The witch had befriended my family, and told them she was being hunted. When she was dying, she used a spell to transfer her fire magic into me. I can control it at will, unlike her, who needed spells.

I also had a sister and brother, my sister younger than me and my brother older than me. I haven't spoken to my brother in 130 years, and I can't speak to my sister.

I closed my eyes and shook my head, shaking the memories away. I opened them and steeled myself for the day. That's when I heard Creed shouting for me to let him free or he'll rip me apart.

Today is gonna be fun.

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	4. Chapter 4

**I do not own the X-Men, only Rayvin!**

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Chapter 4

A couple of weeks later, I had to do something I hated the second I smelled a new feral: I needed Creed's help. I didn't feel like killing, and if the world knew I was working with Creed, they'd quit sending pigs to slaughter.

The morning that I first smelled the feral, was the morning I knew I would need Creed's help. That was also the morning that I threw a rather heavy rock at a mirror in rage, but that was expected.

I dressed myself and headed down to the new feral's doom. I unlocked the cell, and entered. Creed lifted his head, his dark hair long. He looked rather scruffy, like an adorable puppy that could rip out your throat faster than you could finish saying "Awww!"

As I moved slowly about the cell, I made sure to not make eye contact with Creed, and kept my movements slow. One look at his eyes and I knew: He was more wolf than human right now. His storm gray eyes were glowing slightly, which was usually a sign that the wolf was closer to the surface than normal. As I slowly unlocked his chains, I could hear the slight rumble coming from his throat. He leaned forward and nuzzled my neck, breathing in my scent and giving an experimental lick to the sensitive skin. I shivered, which made him bite down just enough for me to feel it, but not enough to break skin or cause pain.

His wolf definitely had more control right now. Creed may be occasionally human, but he wouldn't be this gentle. Only the wolf would. I gently pushed against his chest, murmuring his mutant name softly. For most ferals, their mutant name was also the name of their animalistic side. I was the special case, since I was given one at birth and dubbed another later in life.

Creed looked up and snarled at me, his gray eyes glowing a bit more intensely than before. Dear God, my arousal spiked when he snarled at me. Is that proof that I'm a fucked up person? Or is that my wolf?

A grin spread slowly across his face, giving him an eerie look. I slowly reached up and unlocked the last chain, his arm dropping to his side. I backed away from him slowly, gently grabbing his wrist and guiding him out of the cell. He cringed a little when the sunlight hit him, but he quickly adjusted and kept following me without any fight. I could feel his eyes boring into the back of my head as I took him into the first floor bathroom to clean him up.

As Creed sat on the toilet and watched me, I grabbed the electric razor and cut it on. He snarled slightly at the buzzing sound, but didn't fight me as I shaved his beard. After a few minutes, I had his hair cut and his beard shaved off. I kept his mutton chops, because that was a signature look for him. His eyes never once left me, always looking me up and down like I was a prime cut of steak.

I took his wrist again and led him upstairs, into a guest bedroom, and pulled out some clothes that could fit him. I made sure that what I got for him would still make him look like Victor Creed, a.k.a. Sabretooth, that way he wouldn't be uncomfortable and people would know it was him.

He managed to dress himself, his eyes still on me. Throughout the whole thing, we both were quiet. I was somewhat submissive, not fighting him, because otherwise his wolf would rip me to shreds. He may think of me as his mate, but I'm also a powerful feral. In other words, he also views me as a threat.

Once he finished, he reached towards me and lifted my chin. "Why are you doing this?" he asked, his voice gravelly from not talking for so long.

"I… need your help…" I murmur, not looking him in the eye. They still glowed, but less than before. Good. He was getting closer to human.

"What the fuck for?" he snarled.

"Don't you smell it? A new male feral has arrived… With intentions of trying to kidnap me…" I say, glancing once at his face to see his reaction. He stiffened, and started to growl low in his throat. "Your wolf has already accepted me as its mate… And I know your instinct says to kill any male who looks at me…"

My voice was a whisper, but I got the desired reaction. "Where the hell is he? He isn't going to fucking live much longer!" he snarled, wrapping his hand around my throat and lifting me off the ground. Ok, maybe it wasn't the exactly desired reaction…

I coughed and scratched at his fingers. "Main Street… One of the alleys…" I managed to choke out. He pushed my head back with his thumb, his claws digging into the skin of my throat. At the smell of my own blood, I went into defensive mode. I gripped his wrist with both hands and sank my claws into the skin, causing him snarl in pain and drop me. I landed on my hands and knees, coughing and clutching my throat with my bloodstained hands. I glared up at him, and he glared back. After that, he was gone.

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A couple of hours later, and after I heard the sounds of some of the tourists screaming bloody murder, Creed was back and drenched in blood. Of course, I was too absorbed in fixing up my 1971 Plymouth 'Cuda to notice him, so he ended up catching me off guard. By off guard, I mean I didn't have time to fix my hair and let my bangs cover up the scar over my eye.

"Nice car," I heard him say from the garage door. I jumped slightly and turned to glare at him, not even realizing that my scar was showing. A few seconds later, I was being pressed against the wall and questioned. "Who the fuck did this to you?!"

"A male 125 years ago," I said, wincing slightly from the amount of pressure he was putting on my upper arms. If he pushed any harder, my arms would break.

"I'll fucking kill him!" Creed snarled, his eyes hardening into bits of steel.

"I already fucking killed him!" I snarled right back, my own eyes blazing like fire. His eyes widened, a look of utter shock on his face.

"You killed a full feral male? Without help?" Awe filled his voice.

"Yes without help! I've been a killer for 130 years, and about half of my victims were male ferals who underestimated my abilities," I growl, shoving him backwards. I stalked out of my garage and back into the house.


	5. Chapter 5

**I do not own the X-Men, only Rayvin!**

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Chapter 5

After Creed pissed me off, I stormed out of my garage to the little room I keep for when I need to get back inside from a run. I shift, not even caring about my clothes getting shredded, and just run. I run as far and as fast as I can, my rage fueling my speed.

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Victor chased after her, getting to the room she had entered, and looked out the door. All he saw was the flick of a dark red tail, and she was gone. _Damn she was fast…_

That was when he looked down and saw her shredded clothes. Apparently, her clothes didn't vanish when she shifted forms. That had to suck…

Victor realized something: He still didn't know her real name. He only knew her as Werewolf, which was the name the humans dubbed her. Fitting, for one who could change forms at will and still be so rational when angry. But he still didn't know her real name. His employers never had a well-formed dossier on her. All they had were vague descriptions of her appearance. The most detailed part was about her kill count, which rivaled his own.

He walked out of the room, taking the torn up clothes with him. He tossed them in the trash and started to explore. What else was he supposed to do? If he killed one of the locals, she would end up killing him for endangering her. He had figured out that much from how the locals revered her.

Victor started to search around the bottom floor, finding numerous drivers licenses and passports. All had fake names on them, and her scar was never shown in any of them. No wonder his employers never had a name for him. She never used the same name twice. After he had looked over her many identities, he went up to her bedroom. Maybe he'd figure something out about her there.

As soon as he walked into the room, her scent hit him. Pine trees, a warm summer's night, and something new… It reminded him of ash, almost. It made sense, really. The fire she controlled would be integrated into her scent. It wasn't a strong ashy smell though. It was subtle, and actually kind of sweet. It was almost like an herb had been burned, and the scent attached to her.

He looked about her bedroom, just gazing at the big bay windows and slight messiness of it. One could learn a lot about someone just from the cleanliness of their room. And what he learned was this: She didn't care what people thought about her. To him, she didn't seem to have much to live for, other than the kill. She appeared to care about something though, if her room was kept cleaner than most ferals. Might just be a female thing, but still.

As he gazed about the room, he caught something out the corner of his eye. A large painting, of a wintry landscape. There was a dark red shape among all the white, almost blending in with the shadows cast by the trees in the painting. Upon closer inspection, Victor realized that it was a wolf, with amber eyes. Which looked exactly like the she-wolf who had kept him prisoner. He found a small artist's signature in the corner, but he couldn't make out the whole thing. All he saw was 'Li-' and then it became scribble.

Creed turned the painting over to investigate the back. Maybe there was a note or something that could reveal Werewolf's name. He found this in the center of the piece:

"_To my big sister, Rayvin. May your wolf and human always be one. I love you!"_

"So that is her name. Huh. I thought it would be something different. Rayvin…" He tried saying her real name, and liked the way it sounded. It rolled off his tongue easily, almost like a purr. Since when was he a cat?

He snooped about a bit more, before leaving her room exactly as he had found it. He knew he would probably get attacked for going into her room, but it was worth it for finding out some more information on her.

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I ran, I ran, and I ran. I always ran. I didn't stop running until I was deep in the snowy forests of Canada. My home away from home. And I don't mean the house I'm forcing myself to share with Creed. I mean my home country of Ireland. The place I lived in for the first thirty years of my life. I left after that, always running from the pain of that day and from those who wish to use, abuse, or kill me.

I slowed to a halt, panting softly. My breath puffed out in a small cloud in front of my muzzle, before disappearing. I noticed the signs of a local wolf pack: scent borders, tumbled snow, and various small skeletons from kills. I moved deeper into their territory, snow getting kicked up from my large paws.

A yearling bounded up to me the closer I neared the dens, and tried tackling me to the ground. I dodged-just barely-and the white wolf landed in a snowdrift. She ended up becoming lost in the snow, her white fur blending in. Other wolves padded up to me, greeting me with licks to the muzzle and ears. This was my pack; this was my family. The Alpha, a large black male only slightly smaller than me, gave a slight nip to my shoulder, reprimanding me for staying away for so long. I flattened my ears and lowered my tail in a small show of submission. The Alpha, known as Midnight, licked my muzzle before bounding to his den.

The other wolves followed him back to their temporary camp, and proceeded to tackle each other in a mock fight. Midnight watched over his pack, a slim and pretty silver wolf at his side. She had the palest of blue eyes, and her coat shimmered when the moon hit it. She was Star, Midnight's Alpha Female. Most of the pups in the pack were theirs, since pack law dictated that only the Alpha pair could have pups. However, some of the other females tended to have pups with or without permission of their Alphas.

One pup, only about six months old, attacked her father's tail. She gnawed on it, which had to hurt, since she was teething. But Midnight barely flinched, which showed his tolerance towards the young pups. If I remembered correctly, she was from Midnight and Star's fifth litter. Her coat was a dark gray, so I think they named her Shade. She had the makings of a feisty she-wolf, religiously attacking her father's tail.

One of her brother's, named Twilight, leaped onto her back, the two of them rolling around in the snow. They became a dark gray ball of fluffiness, yipping and growling as they fought. When one finally had the other pinned, Shade was chewing on her brother's ear. Twilight nipped at her throat, which caused Shade to yelp and run to her mother. She hid behind Star's forelegs, which stopped Twilight in his tracks. He pinned his ears and lowered his tail, trying to get their mother to forgive him for attacking his sister.

I looked about the pack, watching the young wolves wrestle and the older wolves lazing about or interacting with each other. One could definitely see the hierarchy here: Midnight and Star were Alphas, Thorn (a white wolf with dark green eyes) and Dawn (a pale silver she-wolf with golden eyes) were Betas, then the older wolves, then the younger, and finally the Omega of the pack, named Hawk (a brownish-gray wolf with leaf green eyes).

Hawk was being antagonized by the white yearling who had tried to tackle me. No one stepped in, and I knew better than to step in. The Omega was the wolf that submitted to everyone. To put it in terms that one would better understand: The Omega is the punching bag of the pack. They don't fight back to the nips and sharp bites. They submit to everyone, but in some cases, a wolf will treat the Omega as its equal when the others aren't around.

As I lay in a soft pile of snow, Shade decided to tackle my tail. I thumped it on her, but she kept on coming. That was when she pounced on my back, and I was mobbed by the younger pups: Shade, Twilight, Silver, Leaf, Pine, and Snow. Six pups were attacking me, yipping and growling. I rolled on my back, careful to not accidently squish any of them. I, too, was playfully growling.

It was in that moment of puppyish weakness that I heard the sound of someone coming; and fast. I immediately got up and signaled to the pups to get back, Midnight and the other capable wolves standing beside me in a line of defense. I scented the air, and caught the scent of someone I had kept in a cell for the past few weeks: Creed.

I snarled, my hackles raised, my posture threatening. The other wolves mimicked me, their fangs bared and their eyes blazing with fury for this encroachment. Creed appeared in the distance, running on all fours, his claws and fangs gleaming in the moonlight. He slowed when he saw the line of wolves beside me, all of them growling and howling for blood. I watched him move closer, slowly, careful to not make any sudden move.

That's when he does make a sudden move: He steps in a deep snowdrift. When his body lurches forward, Thorn and Dawn lunge. They both take a flailing arm, their fangs nearly tearing his hands off. His body is dragged out of the snowdrift, and two other wolves (a reddish brown male and a black she-wolf) sink their fangs into his ankles. He's unable to move, seeing as how otherwise his hands and feet will be chewed off. Midnight flicks his ear at me, and I obey. I lunge on top of Creed, my body almost covering his. Saliva drips from my jaws, my fangs bared. I was a blood colored, snarling, murderous she-wolf, and I wasn't afraid of the kill. That's why Midnight had me be the one to lunge onto the intruder. I was the scariest wolf among the pack.

Creed just stared into my fiery eyes, daring me to kill him. That was when he said my name. Not my mutant name. Not the name of my wolf. He didn't say Werewolf or Lupa. Instead, he said the name only a trusted few know: Rayvin. I froze, and the other wolves recognized the look in my eyes. It was a mix of murderous rage and utter depression. The pack knew that the blood colored wolf they know as Lupa could become a human, so they didn't attack me when I changed forms.

"How. The. _Fuck!_ Do. You. Know. That. Name?!" I snarl, my clawed hand around his throat. He coughed, his brain getting slowly deprived of oxygen.

"Painting…" he choked out, unable to try and grab my hand and pull it away from his soon-to-be-crushed throat. Thorn and Dawn made sure of that. His gaze traveled slowly and almost appreciatively down my body, which didn't help his case.

I howl and squeeze his throat harder, crushing his windpipe easily. My claws tore into his flesh, his blood splattering the pure white snow. Such a stark contrast, blood red and snow white. I knew Creed would heal from it, and he would heal in maybe a few hours. So I signal to the wolves to back off and I would handle him. I pick up his already healing wrist and drag him off into the forest, away from the pack. I left to yips and howls, and I smile to myself as my wolf family told me good-bye for now.

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**I had fun writing this chapter. You see a much more tender side to Rayvin in this one :3**

**By the way, next chapter is a lemon! First time writing one solo (yes, I roleplay it. So what), so don't hate!**

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	6. Chapter 6

**I do not own the X-Men, only Rayvin!**

**Enjoy the lemon!**

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Chapter 6

Creed, again, woke up in a place he didn't recognize. He sat up and cracked his neck, feeling something dried stretch his skin. He put one clawed hand up to his throat and felt the blood dried there. "How many fucking times is she going to draw blood?!" he growled.

He stood and looked about his surroundings, not recognizing anything. Then again, the snowy forests of Canada tended to look the same to him. Victor closed his eyes as he caught a particular scent that made his wolf growl possessively: pine trees, warm summer nights, and sweet-smelling ash. Rayvin had dragged him there, after she nearly ripped out his throat in front of a pack of snarling wolves.

When he opened his eyes, they were glowing slightly. His wolf was a bit closer to the surface, but not totally in control. He glanced at his wrists and saw the blood caked there, along with his ankles. _Damn those wolves had powerful jaws…_

Creed dropped down to all fours and ran in the direction of Rayvin's scent, slowing and walking properly as he gazed up at the house she lived in. It wasn't a house, not really. Not when it was four stories and had a tower at one corner. Or thick glass walls on the first floor and in a third floor bedroom.

He saw the little room that she had run out of, the door still open. Either she was expecting him to come back, or that room had a specific purpose for when she ran. He entered the room and walked into the house, which took him into the opulent kitchen. It was all stainless steel and black marble, a kind of broodiness to it that reminded him of himself.

Victor's gaze landed on Rayvin, who was sitting with her back turned at the bar. She was dressed in only jeans and a tanktop, and what was on her back made his wolf howl in fury.

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I sipped from the bottle of Irish whiskey, listening closely for when Creed came back. The whiskey was one I stole from my parents, and they had made it on the day of my birth, so this was 150 years old, and it went down with a slow warmth that made me tingle.

That was when I heard the low growl behind me, and spun the chair around to face Victor. "Back from the de-," I manage to get out, before his lips crashed into mine. I yelped and tried to pull away, but his claws dug into the back of my neck and warned me not to move. Eventually, my wolf responded and turned up my horniness, wrapping my arms and legs around Creed. I closed my eyes and tried to not drop the whiskey.

Victor pulled back to breathe, and I panted softly. My eyes were hooded, but glowed a soft amber color. His own eyes were glowing a stormy gray, his wolf closer to the surface than before. I pulled my arm around him to take a swig from the whiskey, reaching behind me to place it back on the counter. I never once broke eye contact with him, which had him smirking at me. I felt his claws dig into my jean-clad ass, pushing me down onto his major hard on.

"Fuck you're hard!" I say in alarm, not knowing just how much of an effect I have on him. He chuckled and kissed my neck, his fangs nicking my skin. I moaned softly and let my head roll to the side, giving him more room to lick and nip the sensitive skin. My hands roamed over his chest, feeling the hard muscles underneath the shirt he wore. Out the corner of my eye, I saw the blood dried on his neck and muttered darkly under my breath. I pressed my chest against his, tilting my head to lick at the skin there. He shuddered, and I smirked as I managed to clean off some of the dried blood.

"Fuck it woman I'm not going to be nice to you," he said, tearing my tanktop off of my body. I felt his claws glide across my back, causing me to shiver as they traced the lines of the tribal wings branded into my skin. He attacked my neck, biting the skin there and not breaking it. In retaliation for him ripping my top off, I tear the buttons off of his shirt with one claw and rip it from his body, which made him growl into my neck.

"Whoever said I had to be nice to a killer?" I growl sharply, which causes him to slam my back into the wall. I grunt softly in pain, watching as his mouth moved south from my neck to nip at the skin of my breasts. He tears my bra-my favorite black bra-from my body and flicks his tongue over my nipples. I gasp and moan, his ministrations to my nipples making them harden.

"You're easy to make horny…"

"I haven't had sex in almost fifty years, so fuck off Victor."

"You just used my first name. Are you getting attached?"

"Fuck no! Just fuck me already Sabretooth."

"Happy to oblige, but I like teasing you, sooo…." By the time the banter was done, I was lying on my back on the floor without clothes on, and Victor's mouth was steadily going south from my breasts. I moaned softly, my claws gouging into the floor. When he reached my pussy, he dipped his tongue into my folds, my body reacting instantly and causing me to buck my hips.

Victor used one hand to push my hips into the ground, keeping them still as he continued his tasting. I felt his tongue glide over my clit, making me moan loudly and dig my claws into the wood floors. He slipped one claw inside me, making sure to not tear my walls before the real fucking began. I gasped and moaned, arching my hips up to his hand. He chuckled. "You're making this easy on me, Rayvin."

"Fuck you! You go without sex for half a century and you would have already cum before fucking me!" I snapped, which caused him to loom over my body. I felt one of his clawed hands wrap around my throat, digging into the sensitive flesh.

"You like this abuse. You're getting wetter from me just choking you," Victor said, his observation not far off the mark. I _was_ getting wetter from him choking me. How the hell did that fucking work?!

I felt his hardened cock-goddamn he was _huge!_-press into my thigh. In response, I wrapped my legs around his waist, pressing my dripping pussy against him. He growled and immediately snapped his hips into me, stretching me to almost the point of tearing. I hissed loudly, my body barely adjusting before the real fun started.

I screamed, his cock already hitting my g-spot. Dammit all, I was not going to win this round of fucking. I put up a fight, my claws drawing blood in his shoulders and my hips meeting his thrust for thrust. He apparently hadn't had sex in awhile either, because I could already feel his thrusts getting jerkier than before.

"Dirty little whore, keeping your tight pussy from me for fifty years. You deserve this punishment," Victor growled, which only made my screams louder as my orgasm drew closer.

"Cum for me Sabretooth!" I screamed, my body spasming out my orgasm. My cries became animalistic growls, my pussy tightening hard around the thick cock still pounding into me. Victor howled, his cum filling my pussy until it started to leak out of me. I screamed and orgasmed a second time, his name filling both of our ears.

We both panted heavily, neither of us wanting to get up from this. I closed my eyes and fell asleep, exhausted from my run and the vigorous fucking. I wondered what I'd wake up to…

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**How'd I do with my first solo lemon? Leave a review!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Kind of depressing, not gettting any reviews... .**

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Chapter 7

Next time I woke, I was lying in my bed with a hulking beast of a man wrapped around me. One whiff of his scent and I knew who it was: Victor. Last night came rushing back to me, the entire explosive experience. Most men couldn't survive sex with me because of blood loss. And I have a feeling most women don't survive Creed's fucking because they literally get ripped apart.

I felt him stir beside me, which caused me to leap out of the bed and have my claws out. He sat up and just stared at me.

"Jumpy this morning?" Victor rumbled, his eyes half-lidded in a contented look.

"Yes I'm jumpy! I just slept with the bastard sent to kill or capture me!" I snapped, horror written plainly across my face. Holy shit what kind of mistake did I just make?!

"I'm not a bastard!" Creed snarled, sitting up and lunging for me. I spun neatly out of the way, before stopping. Holy fuck… Realization hit me as I register the lack of fading claw marks on my arms. The nightmares… They didn't come last night…

"Th-They're gone… They never came…" I whisper, dropping to my knees and crossing my arms across my chest.

"What's gone? What never came? Cuz we sure as hell both did," Victor asked. I snarled at him, my eyes flashing with so much pain and sadness that it was hard for me to not burst into tears in front of him. As expected, he picked up on it, and kneeled beside me, rubbing my shoulders gently.

"I am not about to tell you what makes me act like this, Creed," I snarl, bolting from the room and leaving him to wonder about me.

I stop in front of a portrait of a young girl, who looks remarkably like me, except her eyes are green and she has a playfully innocent smile on her face. I close my eyes and imagine a girl with no face, her bright red hair covering part of it. This faceless girl haunts my dreams. I get the eerie feeling that she's my sister, the girl in the portrait. The same bright hair and laugh are the only beginning indications. I run after her, but every time I'm about to touch her, there's a flash, and her torn body is on the ground. I drop to my knees and howl my grief, but it's always short-lived. My brother and parents come up and shout insults at me in Latin and Gaelic, saying I'm a failure as a sister and feral. I beg for forgiveness, but they just drag me up and tie me to a pyre. That's when they light me on fire, oblivious to my screams. Just as I'm about to black out, I wake.

The nightmares stopped when I slept in the same room, the same bed, as Victor. I hate to say it, but it's a sign that we are mates.

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Victor saw it all. The sad and pained look she gave the portrait, her hand going to the pendant around her neck, the light scratches she leaves on her skin. He knew how she felt, at least when it came to nightmares. For him, they never came. He wasn't haunted by his childhood or the wars he's been in.

He heard a slight sob come from the deadly woman in front of him, causing him to look up and really see her. She was naked, and covered in what looked like brands on her skin: tribal wings on her back, a Celtic trinity knot on the inside of both her wrists, tribal wolves flowing with her body shape, and a ring of flames over her heart. She really was beautiful, with her almost black red hair, amber eyes, and voluptuous body. Even with the scar over her eye. He could tell though, that she had been through some crazy shit to be the murderess she is.

She growled low in her throat. "If you don't want your heart ripped out, I suggest you run as far and as fast as you can." Her voice sounded gravelly, and her eyes were glowing much stronger than any other time they had. She looked wild, her claws sharp, and her teeth becoming fangs, her hair becoming wild and unruly. He could see the bloodlust in her eyes, and instantly bolted, not wanting to face a pissed off she-wolf.

Rayvin howled, a haunting sound, and gave chase.

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**I know it's short, and I know it's got one hell of a cliffhanger, but the best part is next chapter, I promise.**

**Please please please leave a review!**


	8. Temporary Hiatus

**Temporary hiatus, since it's the last couple of weeks of school and it's getting hectic with state exam scores and whatnot.**

**One of the reviews (yay a review!) I received said that the story seems a little all over the place and Victor is a bit OOC. I thank you for the constructive criticism, and I know this might sound a bit defensive, and I'm sorry, but my response is this:**

**First: I am a very disorganized person in real life, and my English teacher has noticed that my ideas tend to not be put in the right spot in my writings. I'm trying my best to work on that, especially since this is all a sort of spur of the moment writing.**

**Second: I haven't watched X-Men Origins: Wolverine in awhile, so I'm sketchy on Victor's character. I realized when I started that Victor would be a bit OOC, and I should have put that in my summary. Also, I want people to see Victor a little bit differently, especially since my character, Rayvin, is so much like Victor in her temperament. How would you react if you were a scary s.o.b. used to people doing what you want, and all of a sudden, there's a woman just as terrifying and deadly as you?**

**Quick summary of chapter 7, since it might confuse:**

**Rayvin wakes up and realizes that she's just slept with the man sent to kill her. So she freaks out and jumps out of bed, insulting Victor in the process. He lunges for her, making her dodge and she realizes that she isn't healing from scratches on her arms nor is she covered in sweat from her nightmares. She's shell shocked, and drops to her knees, pain in her eyes. Victor asks what's wrong, and she gets defensive and runs out. She stops in front of a portrait of her sister, and recounts her nightmare that's plagued her for 130 years. That's when she realizes that Victor really is her mate, because his presence soothed her sleep. Victor saw the minute details: the pained look on her face, her fiddling with a pendant around her neck, and her self inflicted scratches. That's when he sees her for the woman she is, along with the murderess she's become. He also knows that the nightmares plaguing him didn't come. Rayvin's pain causes her human side to lose some control, which is why she becomes even more feral. She tells Creed to run, he does, and she gives chase.**

**Anywho, I just wanted to tell y'all that I wouldn't be getting to Chapter 8 just yet, wanted to address that bit on constructive criticism, and give a summary of chapter 7. Thanks for any and all reviews!**


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